


Pauper

by ridorana



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/pseuds/ridorana
Summary: Balthier won'twake the hell upand they used their last Prince's Kiss in the Highwaste.Luckily, Vaan is nothing if not resourceful.





	Pauper

 

The moss-drenched woodpaths of the Salika glow with dappled sunlight and the air hums with bird and bugsong alike. Around Vaan, lazy dust motes float in the day-beams slanting warmly through the thicket, and in the distance he hears the chitter of wyrdhares and steady thump of wild chocobo trots. Vaan pauses amidst the settled tranquility, ears perked, and when he hears and sees no sign of any further threat from the wake of their recent battle, he sighs in relief and turns to his New Problem Altogether.

“Balthier. Wake _up_.”

Vaan clumsily steps over the wide mangled tentacle of the fallen Malboro - with its death throes it had croaked a final oozing stench of breath and though Vaan had been nimble enough to dodge, Balthier was not so lucky, and the magicks within its sigh had been potent enough to render him deeply unconscious.

Before him, Vaan takes in the sight: Balthier’s whipcord slender build, clean-shaven sharpness, impeccable high-bred posture lined in gilded tooled leather, all crumbled away in the wake of a measly Sleep spell. Funny, how that’s all it seems to take to wear a facade down. It’s rare to see the man in any state of vulnerable disarray, and Vaan finds himself staring like the heedless poorly-bred Rabanastran Balthier is wont to remind him he is on certain occasions. It’s kind of annoying, really; Vaan never realized one could _fall asleep standing up_ until this journey began and it’s almost infuriating that of course Balthier somehow manages to make it look _good_. Why, Vaan nearly has to squint to make fun of him in such a position, fully unconscious, head bobbing gently like a fishing float on the Nebra.

And...Is he _snoring_?

The half-amused Dalmascan approaches Balthier, sheathing his dagger with more force than necessary. It hisses, metal against metal, and the cold snap rife with finality does nothing to stir the older man pleasantly nodding off… in full stance… in the middle of the day.

Though even if Vaan _could_ dissect something funny from the maddeningly attractive display of a slumbering Balthier in the sunlight, it’s not as though he’d be able to have a fair lark considering how many times he took an impromptu siesta in The Urutan-Yensa Sandsea; Fran had clipped  the Nishijin Belt over his sash so tightly that Vaan still feels the memory of it around his waist to this day. Alas, there’s no getting this man to wear an accessory he deems unsightly, and now Vaan thinks he’s paying for it. Though, he does appear to be rather tranquil about the whole thing.

Vaan crosses his arms across from Balthier. A small butterfly curiously inspects the gunman before landing on his head.

“Hellooo? Ground control to Balthier? Time to wake up.”

Nothing.

Vaan cautiously nudges Balthier’s side in his first makeshift attempt at waking him, and the butterfly flutters away in a huff. Idly, like treetops in the breeze, the slumbering pirate sways but does not come to; the magicks coupled with his poorly-masked exhaustion has him deeply tangled in this breed of spell.

 _Sleep_ \- Gods know the man could use it, what with his griping and yawning at every moment, it seems. These nuances haven’t slipped Vaan’s attention at least, though Penelo would tease that he pays a little more of _that_ to the sky pirate than most do. (“Pen, he’s so cranky all the time--he really needs a nap.” “Why don’t you offer to cuddle him, Vaan? Show him what a good ol’ fashioned Dalmascan Siesta is all about.” “Don’t tempt me.”)

The rest of the group will be waiting for them soon. Upon completing their thrice-split mission of purging the Salika’s paths in order to make camp for the oncoming eve, they’re to meet at the Quietened Trace not far from where they are now. Vaan sighs, a little indignant at the whole ordeal. He’s rather enjoying the view, and really--he almost _does_ feel bad waking Balthier up. Penelo can snark all she likes, but these signs of Balthier’s exhaustion thus far in their journey do not go unnoticed to Vaan: Balthier’s yawning that echoes when they finally reach a moment of reprieve, or taking a seat on any fallen rubble he can find if an instance calls for a break, even the way the campfire casts deep shadows along the crease of his tired brow late at night. He’s a tired and cranky ponce and this Malboro did him a favor sending him off to naptime as far as Vaan is concerned.

They’re tired. They’re all tired, and they’ve got a long way to go, and Balthier--Balthier is more inclined to make a show of it than anyone else, but still, Vaan can see the circumstances are far from his preference and they tug at the lines below his eyes. Balthier barely allows himself a moment of reprieve as it is. And though a Sleep spell is not an adequate stand-in for real, actual rest, it’s something.

A wayward chocobo squawk is what snaps Vaan from his reverie, and he sighs. Worrying the others won’t do, and maybe with some convincing Vaan can get Balthier to give him the pirate’s watch shift tonight so Balthier can get some actual shuteye. He’s never needed much rest anyway; Vaan can do much on little. It is the way of a war orphan.  

He’ll tend to that task later. For now, he curls his fingers around Balthier’s shoulder, the sleeve-edge of his doublet and the cotton tunic below it settled firmly against his palm.

“Balthier, come on. Rise ‘n shine. Ashe’ll be really mad to find you snoozing on the job.”

Again, nothing. The sky pirate continues to nod off and yes, he’s definitely snoring. Vaan resorts to giving him a nice poke in the side that would make Penelo squeal, and it’s more satisfying just to have done the act itself than it would have been to wake him - alas, it does not, but he pokes him again anyway just because he can.

“Uh,” Vaan starts gracefully. At the very least, he’s fresh out of items, but maybe Balthier has something in those really big stupid pockets. Also, Vaan would be lying through his teeth if he ever said he’s not hideously curious what Balthier carries in them. It’s a thought that may have kept him up at night once or twice.

He kneels down next to Balthier to fish in his leftmost belt-satchel. _There’s gotta be one of those Prince’s Kiss things in there,_ he thinks. Vaan blindly digs within the leather confines and unceremoniously dumps things out one by one: A half-drunk potion that, upon uncorking, reveals to not be a potion and is in fact vodka; a few frayed tufts of phoenix downs; some anonymous curatives so worn against the leather that the labels are illegible; and...a tiny wrench meant for a moogle’s paw and not a hume hand at all.

“Jeez, ‘thier, _maybe Nono would be done with repairs sooner if you didn’t take his tools_ ,” Vaan mutters as he empties the first seemingly endless pouch to no avail. The second one is not much help as well: stray, smooth rounds of shot weight the bottom (a few are definitely Wyrmfire because _ow_ that burns to the touch); loose gil and a small crumpled map of some town Vaan has never heard of; a paper-wrapped hunk of half-eaten Bhujerban chocolate; a really plain looking silver ring wrapped in a handkerchief-- _wait no that’s important don’t throw that on the ground Vaan_ he has to tell himself when his heart hammers in his chest at the mere thought of discarding _that_ ; and...that’s it.

Dandy.

Vaan re-packs the sky pirate’s pouches, not before pocketing the chocolate for himself, and pauses ...before pocketing the vodka, too, come to think of it. He brushes his knees of stray pollen and dirt, and sucks in another sigh through chapped lips.

“No Prince’s Kiss, huh.”

Vaan’s eyes narrow into little slits as he scrutinizes the pirate still swaying like a palm tree by the Nebra. Usually Sleep wears off by now, only lasting a few minutes or so - but it appears that Malboro’s breath had been exceptionally potent and Balthier exceptionally tired and yet... He thinks not for the first time even that day that Balthier is really quite a spectacle; he drinks in the sight one last time of a slumbering Balthier in the dying forest-glow of twilight, and again is hit with a familiar pang of want that he has become no stranger to in the man’s presence. How annoying. Even in sleep Balthier still manages to render Vaan all... _fidgety ‘n stuff_.

The Dalmascan swallows thickly, and from seemingly nowhere the Little Penelo Voice in his head natters distantly - _just kiss him already,_ she’d say when they would flank the party with the sound of magicks drowning out their whispers, _I can’t stand the googoo eyes you give him anymore._

Vaan allows himself a wry smile in the emptiness of the lush coppice. His thief-fingers itch to run through Balthier’s hair, feel the bite of hardened gel that keeps stray strands from falling; his thief-fingers itch for so much that he knows he cannot hold with only his two hands. But here and now, he allows himself one indulgence, one harmless, itty-bitty, _little_ indulgence.

With the added slouch of Balthier’s sleep-stance, Vaan hardly has to lean up as far as he’s normally envisioned in this ideal little what-if (and oh, how many times has he envisioned this!). It’s been nigh a month since this adventure began and if there’s a perfect time to kiss this frilly high-bred stupidly handsome sky pirate with zero consequence, _okay maybe a small non-zero consequence_ , it is now. Vaan will have to thank Penelo later for this, her voice being the flame to ignite a long-pent-up desire.

Balthier’s lips are slightly parted to accommodate his deep slumber-breaths, and when Vaan ghosts his mouth over them to finally _press_ , gentle but firm, they feel like--like pillows. Like really nice, Tchita down pillows that the Marquis had on those guest beds. Pillows, for his lips. Yeah. Wow.

It’s not a long kiss, no - Vaan has not planned on such. Kissing’s not nearly as fun when he’s not being kissed back, but there’s a giddy sort of mischief in his smile against Balthier’s lips as he lingers, just a _little_ more, wandering... Oh, dear maybe it's a long kiss after all. This has really done nothing to quell the desire in full swing through his veins; it has doused one curiosity while fully igniting another. His heart is hammering in his chest, his ears, his head, because Balthier’s mouth glows on his lips and he wonders how good this would be if Balthier were awake, if he… if he were to kiss back. The thought twists and rips through Vaan like an Aeroga spell, nearly painful but not unfamiliar in its intensity. Vaan tilts his head, imagines further: Balthier kissing back, lips warm, tongue hot with the slide of their mouths against each other, his kiss just as he is on the battlefield; guiding, protective, lethal--

That pleasant daydream shatters instantly when Vaan's eyes open to meet Balthier's.

In a surge of haste, Vaan wrenches away from Balthier as though the man were made of electrum. For a horrifying moment, only the rustle of flora is heard in the gentle breeze. "Did you just kiss me?" the gunman asks finally, his voice laced with a quiet incredulity.  
  
"No." Vaan’s voice cracks with the lie. He imagines his eyes are the size of Rabanastran tea trays right about now. Cold, fresh mortification prickles his nerves as he shuffles madly in his mind for an excuse to justify whatever madness possessed him to act upon such a desire. Damn it--he thought he already made the mistake of the century back in Eruyt, but this might take the cake.

The sky pirate brings an experimental finger to his lips, running the pad of his thumb along them. That earlier pang of want echoes again within Vaan, and already he misses the pleasant sensation of his mouth on Balthier's.

"You’re a terrible liar," Balthier deduces. The corners of his lips quirk with a grin as he steps towards the thief. "Though not, perhaps, a terrible kisser. Room for improvement, of course, but..."

Before Vaan can mutter an eloquent _'huh?'_ , Balthier swiftly closes the gap between them, and Vaan’s heart is in his throat again at the proximity. In the pirate's eyes there is a hot promise and a threat all the same, and he snakes his hand behind Vaan's neck to curl possessively in his hair. Vaan stumbles back, tripping over the Malboro tentacle and falling right on his rear. Balthier’s shadow looms over him, playfully predatory in a way Vaan finds himself oddly attracted to. 

"So, you can dish it out but can’t take it, can you?" Balthier’s chuckle is sickly-sweet. His eyes flick behind Vaan to the gnarled Malboro carcass. “Seems my impromptu nap inspired a bout of deviance in you. Ever the thief, I see, stealing kisses from a pirate. You grow more brazen with each passing day.”

Well. He doesn’t seem mad at least. Vaan’s lips still feel numb but he manages a laugh, however nervous and small.

“Sorry,” he breathes up at Balthier. “We were uh, all out of Prince’s Kisses.”

It’s Balthier’s turn to laugh, and it fills the dying sunlight with mirth. “You’re no prince, you little Rabanstran pauper.”

Vaan wants to bristle at that, but his brain is still kind of mushy and concocting a retort feels like sifting barehanded through porridge. Instead he settles for a trademark Lowtown pout. “Well, you woke up, at least--lucky for you I’m resourceful.”

“Yes, lucky for me. You’ll have to share that handy little stratagem with the others, won’t you. Or, ah," Balthier, much to the juxtaposition of Vaan's elation and horror, kneels down to cage Vaan on either side of his arms as he prowls over him, "it could be our little trick?”

The proximity is maddening. Vaan really isn’t sure if Balthier is serious and, hell, this was all supposed to be a harmless prank to brag to Penelo about later but now he’s hot and confused. The Dalmascan short-circuits inwardly, and with a quick shimmy and a roll, he removes himself from Balthier's shadow and springs back up on two feet. 

And then he runs.

Not without a wave, at least, and he turns his head to the side to shout,

“We should catch up to the others--You can thank me later, ‘Thier!”

 

And so it is later, in the thick black of Nabradia’s night peppered with glowbugs, that Balthier thanks Vaan.

The kiss is warm in the firelight, and if the Archadian nobleman notices the Rabanastran pauper tastes like chocolate and vodka, he doesn’t ask.

 


End file.
